Look, I don’t have time to go into all the particulars. In case you didn’t notice, it’s Christmas/New Year’s Week, which means I have a lot of Oxys to snort off the chests of numerous nubile hookers, and blogging is about the last thing on my mind.
In fact, I’m only posting now because I realized during my most recent lap dance that I’d neglected to inform you all that I never died at all, and that the most recent post — dating back to July 2011, no less — was made by my former houseboy and adopted son Kang while I was plotting Total Absorption Revenge against him. Said revenge was carried out, he and his entire family died in the aftermath, and I reclaimed my rightful seat as the master of Carver Manor.
But, yeah, that was like a year and a half ago. What can I say? I’ve been busy. More importantly, I don’t work for you — you work for me. And I’m in a firing mood.
Anyhow, Happy New Year, 99 percenters. Enjoy sucking down airplane glue and crystal meth tomorrow night while watching Ryan Seacrest get gang-raped by a pack of Burmese monkeys. Now if you’ll excuse me: titties and drugs await. Ta-ta.